Go Beyond your expectations in Canmore

“I’m always amazed at how far your feet can take you,” said Bill, seated at the saddle near Ha Ling Peak. From there, he could look past his shoes far down the mountain to bluey-green glacial water or over his shoulder where Canmore’s streets straddled the Bow River.

Canmore’s slogan is “Go Beyond” and we most certainly found ourselves beyond our comfort zones, beyond our assumed abilities, beyond our expectations during many of our experiences in and around this Alberta town, but especially on Ha Ling.

Our daughter Rachel lives in Canmore, where she works in the outdoor industry. Every time we visit, we find we go beyond our usual activities: things that I secretly would love to do, but lack the confidence or ability. Rachel has a way of inspiring us to take on those challenges.

Like Ha Ling.

The grey, rounded distinctive crest has a vertical cliff face that looms over Canmore, with the curvy saddle on its eastern flank joining it to Miner’s Peak. You can see Ha Ling from just about anywhere in Canmore, even out Rachel’s kitchen window. While doing dishes, I daydreamed about reaching its peak, especially once I discovered it was hikeable – no technical climbing needed.

However, my body told me otherwise. I had climbed Mount Kilimanjaro for my 50^th birthday, but that was 12 years ago; now, my knees would strenuously object to a mountain hike, particularly the descent. But Rachel countered with a trail description: wide, lots of zigzags to lessen the incline, and stairs built into the steep bits. She had hiked to the peak in the dark for sunrise at the top on her 25^th birthday in just 1.5 hours. So, I believed her that I could do it.

One sunny October day, we geared up with water, hiking poles, bear spray, snacks, and warm layers to add as we ascended.

“I can’t believe we’re going to stand up there,” I said as we drove to the trailhead.

“I felt the same way when I first started hiking peaks,” Rachel assured us. “It seems fantastic that you can do it in just a day hike. But it’s just hiking. Slow and steady.” She also intended to hike slowly since she was recovering from knee surgery and wore a knee brace. And Bill has foot problems; he’d rather bike than hike anyhow, but he gamely agreed to come along.

So, the three of us gimps set off. About two-thirds of the trail wandered back and forth, ever upwards, through lovely, coniferous woods. The smell of Christmas trees wafted upwards as our hiking boots trod on the needle-strewn path. Various viewpoints gave us ever higher views of the Goat Range and the East End of Rundle, which Rachel had also hiked. She pointed out the route she’d taken while I tried to dry my sweaty palms. I have nightmares about her tripping and falling off a cliff.

The peak is named for Ha Ling, a Chinese immigrant who climbed what was then called the Beehive in October 1896. That much we know. Why he climbed it is open to speculation. The Medicine Hat News reported at the time that there was a $50 bet – an enormous sum then, especially for an Asian worker – that no one could climb it within 10 hours. Ha Ling climbed to the peak but no one believed him, so he turned around, climbed it again and waved a red flag that could be seen in town.

But there are variations on that story. Ha Ling was a cook for either a local coal mine or the Canadian Pacific Railroad. He climbed it once. He climbed it twice.

Recently, Jerry Auld, a Canmore historian and climber, investigated the story. He reasoned that, back in 1896 when Chinese immigrants were treated as less than second-class citizens, there was no way Ha Ling would have been making bets with white men while drinking in bars. Auld researched Chinese traditions and discovered that people from Hunan province, from whence Ha Ling hailed, traditionally climbed a mountain during the Double Yang Festival, which in 1896 fell around the time Ha Ling climbed the peak. So perhaps Ha Ling was simply honouring his cultural traditions.

For the next 100 years, the promontory was called Chinaman’s Peak, even though the Indigenous Stoney Nakoda name continued to be Ehagy Nakoda. By 1997, after 30 years of lobbying to have it honour Ha Ling himself, the Alberta Geographical Naming Board officially named it Ha Ling Peak, apparently one of the only, if not the only, Canadian peak named for a Chinese climber.

Ha Ling may not have intended it, but he went well beyond others’ expectations of him.

As we ascended, we often stepped to the side to let faster hikers pass us. I told myself not to compare my hiking abilities with those faster, or even slower, than me.

Every so often, we’d do a “joint check.” “How’s your knee, Rachel?” “Good.” “How’s your foot, Bill?” “It’s okay.” “How are the knees, Mom?” “So far, so good.”

Hiking up a mountain gives you lots of time to think. I recalled some of our earlier adventures in Canmore, where Rachel had stretched our perceptions of what we could do – physically, mentally and creatively.

• In August 2020, while she was working for Chinook Rafting as a whitewater guide, Rachel took us rafting on the Kananaskis River. We’d been rafting before, but not for several decades. I didn’t want to embarrass her by falling out in front of her roommates (who shared our raft) and colleagues. Fortunately, I succeeded.

• In April 2021, we dropped Rachel at the Banff hospital at 6 a.m. for her knee surgery and drove to nearby Lake Minnewanka, on her recommendation, to watch the sun rise. As a night owl, I’m not usually active at that time of day, especially when it’s still full-on winter in the Rockies. But what a splendid sunrise! The rays caught on layers of mist threading among the mountains and hovering over the frozen lake. Ice creaked and groaned. We were the lone hikers at that hour. 

• My artistic talents have never included the visual arts. I have trouble drawing stick people. But I kept feeling an urge to draw or paint the gorgeous scenery we’ve encountered on our travels. Rachel, who has her own business selling art online, gave me a lesson in watercolours.

• The day before our Ha Ling adventure, we did a warm-up hike to Grotto Canyon – an easy hike, unless you want a closeup view of the waterfall. Rachel scampered up the steep, very smooth and slippery rocks to see the water tumbling down the cliff face. Bill and I went partway up – already beyond my comfort zone – but were too nervous to go further. “Take pictures for me,” I called, finding a safe spot to sit and observe the waterfall from afar. The rock was so slippery that I chose to “butt scootin’ boogie” my way down – alternately sliding on my butt and using my hands and feet to crab-walk along. Completely undignified. Rachel helpfully took video of me and provided commentary: “The mountain goat in its natural habitat,” she intoned in a wildlife documentary narrator’s voice. When I saw the video, I had to laugh at myself, and at Bill. He was behind me with his butt in the air in a downward-dog yoga position, inching his way down as well. Yep, we were ready for Ha Ling…

The Ha Ling trail got steeper, but three sets of wooden staircases, squared rocks for steps and benches, footsteps chiselled into smooth otherwise-slippery boulders, and a couple of safety chain railings helped. As we emerged above treeline, a strong wind hit us. I stared nervously at the peak, which looked much steeper up close.  

We finally reached the saddle. I had envisioned a flat space, but it was more of a pointy low wall of rock. From a crouched position, I hesitantly peered over; other braver souls stood straight up to admire the expansive Rocky Mountains, with Canmore laid out like a map below.

Another joint check – Bill’s feet had had enough. Despite my thumping heart and clammy hands as I contemplated the summit, I still wanted to get there. So, Rachel and I continued – a further 400 metres of distance and 103 metres of elevation. It doesn’t sound like much, but after the saddle, the trail is unmaintained and undefined – a steep network of narrow, criss-crossing lines over loose scree and rough boulders through which hikers pick their own way.

“It’s choose-your-own-adventure here,” said Rachel.

The wind was fierce. I pictured myself being blown off the peak, if I ever made it; if I tripped at all, I’d go rolling down the steep slope I found myself on.

I looked straight ahead at Rachel’s feet as I slowly negotiated each step, placing my hiking poles carefully so they wouldn’t slip in the loose scree. I feared looking down the mountain or up at the peak in case I got dizzy and fell. Rachel offered me a hand in some places, which I gratefully accepted. I worried about the descent, about sliding down the mountain and how my knees would fare.

When kids are growing up, we teach and encourage them to try new things to help them grow and develop their talents and abilities, to challenge their own limits (within the bounds of safety, of course). As our three kids have become adults, it’s been a revelation – a most satisfying revelation – to continue learning life lessons from them. With Rachel, we’ve learned to go beyond what we thought were our limits. Or is that a reflection of what we’ve taught her?

Just when I thought we’d never arrive, Rachel announced, “We’re here!” (I don’t want to brag, but I doubled Rachel’s previous time to the top – three hours instead of 1.5.)

Like the saddle, the peak was a ridge of jagged rocks, with no wide flat space to stand. While Rachel and others pranced right to the edge to peer over, I couldn’t. I sank to my hands and knees, crawled to a protected rock, and peeked.

Wow! The exhilarating view was worth all the worry. With Rachel’s encouragement, I finally stood and spread my arms wide for a quick photo (see the first photo). When others finally left the very highest rock, Rachel urged me over. However, the fierce wind made me scared to stand straight up. Rachel laughingly took my bent-sideways photo.

The descent was much easier than I had imagined. I didn’t cause a personal landslide and my knees, while sore, weren’t sharply painful as they often are. I’ve learned how to protect them by taking short steps and using my hiking poles effectively. What a relief and what a sense of accomplishment!

But that wasn’t the end of the Rachel Davies Boot Camp for Retired Parents. If left to my own devices, I would have rested my stiff muscles for a few days. Instead, we cycled along the Three Sisters Mountain trail the next day and hiked the Elbow Lake and Rae Glacier trail the day after that. Surprisingly, my stiff muscles loosened up more by remaining active. The learning never stops.

Climbing a mountain is a physical metaphor of why I love to travel – it challenges your perceived abilities, stretching and expanding your mind, emotions and spirit along with those calf and thigh muscles. Even once you’re back to flat land, you don’t forget the exhilaration of standing on that windy peak, tremors coursing through your legs. When you go beyond, you know you can do things, despite your fears. Maybe that’s what ‘conquering fear’ really means.

We visited Canmore in August and November 2020 as well as in April and October 2021. Find out where we are right now by visiting our ‘Where’s Kathryn?’ page.